


Pictures of Kabuki Men

by ARandomRock



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Character Play, Gen, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, References to Spoilers, minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARandomRock/pseuds/ARandomRock
Summary: Ivan knows why his sponsors like him. He knows what they expect of him.Yet, those expectations do not match with the expectations of how himself should be.One step at a time, once change at a time.If he can pour a tea with the world drowned out, they'll remember the lessons of the Kabuki.More than a costume thrown on with stickers in the back.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Pluto's Zine Works





	Pictures of Kabuki Men

**Author's Note:**

> Zine piece that got removed from the zine. No hard feelings. I've never written for this and had to re-watch the entire season again.

You aren’t just defending the world. You are defending a brand, a culture, an idea, an image. You aren’t just saving the world, you are saving financial collapse, homelessness and the audience turning against you. Even though you have the weight of the world on you to act, you have the weight of a miniature world also on your back. This weight is what always nudged Ivan’s hand the wrong direction over and over again. A marketing meeting, a design meeting, another sticker on the back You aren’t active enough so at least have a gimmick to sell. You aren’t gimmicky enough, be more active. The surgery sponsor's demand you to show precise and elegance associated with those whose faces and bodies we dissect and rearrange. It’s our living, it should be yours too. This was a snapping point in the corridor. There was never enough of his body to rearrange to appease all the stickers. Each sticker pinning down his face for the surgery that was the cameras. Another nip of his shyness and a tuck for his insecurities. 

He had turned then to the very theme of his costume, the idol at which was slowly being drained from him. In lieu he thought, if I have blended in so many times, changed my chameleon's skin enough times, then where even were my original colours? Traditionalism then, via his transport vehicle. The last bastion of tranquility where he could go through the motions to becoming the Origami Cyclone. Each step from sheathing his weapons, placing the shuriken, placing on his helmet to hide his face. Each movement was deliberate, orchestrated and timed with breathes. A cleansing of outside stress and a stripping down into the role. Therefore creating a ceremony just a small ceremony based on the traditions that he could do in private. Something elaborate enough that he felt proactive, but quiet enough that the sponsor’s wouldn’t stick their head through. So, a tea ceremony. Something required him to balance, be patience and simple watch things tick until it was time for him to act.

The first rehearsal, the first time that the water became to bubble and whistle at him was fought with cloudy minds and jerky hands. The vehicle rocked, the plant jangled and the tea sloshed about. Ivan tried to still his thumping heart and growing migraine, staring at the ladle's whose heat was now trickling into his fingers. Shaking and seeing the drips full off the side of the ladle he takes another scoop. The tips of his fingers are turning white from the head that has come up both the metal and steam. It trickles as Ivan concentrates stilling himself even when the Kabuki Theater is shaking from the movement. His eyes focus on it, the eyes of the world in the vehicle. This is his initiative move, this is where he strikes the tea into the cup. Yet, by then his fingers couldn’t hold the heat. Sweat and numbness drops the ladle and with the combined motions of the vehicle, tips the pot off the stand making it rattle away. None of the water scolds him. None of the water would cause any damage whatsoever. His lack of action caused nothing but his fingers to be slightly burnt and that he’d have to get a towel. His inaction, the inaction that his sponsor praised when in reverse to what he swallowed. 

Giving up the charade and opting for a coffee out the main vehicle dispenser where managers and costume maintainers sat about. Huffed over a cup of coffee, the thick froth leaked over the edge of the paper cup and sunk down the side with his heart. He’d tried to poke through the froth with a stirring stick. Lifting it up and down but it trickled down like sand. A small whirlpool in the center where sand had been swirled and drowned in sucked in Ivan’s eyes with his though. Inaction let the froth tibble over and now he’d poke a hole in the sand. Thick sand that could take down with little damage the the highest of hurdles yet would still allow things to trickle through Ivan threw the coffee back into the sink to each of the crew member’s jump. A cloth was pss to wipe a small flicker of coffee froth that had hit his costume. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. 

_ “I’m alright! I don’t need coffee to save the world! Haha!” _

A twirl on the heel, a new face, a smile and hand flick. 

_ “Alright Cyclone! Just no go doing that to do anything buildings now. We don’t mind you hanging back with this one since it’s in the CBD.” _

A reward. Another sticker for inaction. His coffee was ruined, his little traditional play that he could maybe sell to his sponsors for an advert was ruined. Save the world, but not hat cup of tea.

There was persistence in Ivan’s soul that something wasn’t right. After sitting in front of a camera and once again doing his Kabuki performance before heading out there was another urge to fight it all again. To just take that ladle and pour the tea. He had been engaged by now other heroes who showed him light between the stickers on his costume. Those whose powers were also not fully suited for loud tv show battles with flashy swords. Each of them who also carried their own weight were able to express it with their actions, their motivation. Just as he was motivated by inaction, that didn’t mean he had to be inaction himself. That he didn’t need to stare are the bottom for the rankings because “inaction” was his theme and heart. Inaction - the lack of actions - were the chains that the heroes who had put faith in him had given. This realization came from a small clean up job at which even though the King of Heroes swept up the points had stopped for a while. In the midst of cleanup, just for a second the  _ “King of all Heroes” _ had cut off a small bit of his banner to wrap around his partner’s arm that had pierced the costume enough to damage the skin. Never shown on camera, even though on the other side of the buildings was the crowds and people awaiting. Even though the overhead scenes were blasted on the screens this small bit of caring, this small slip of the cool intelligent mask had struck Ivan. Struck him so hard in fact that his costume maintainers were scrambling at his door after he locked his theater shut and boldly set up the tea stand once more. No more inaction, He had to let the mask slip with the camera on him. Phone jammed on it’s side and wedge between wooden panels. Here he’d show weakness, his traditionalist and his strength. In the end however it just let to his hand was coated in split tea to the point that the ladle was flung across the room. His teeth gritted in and Ivan sucked enough air with eyes slightly watering. Taking his sword out of the costume and slicing up his own tablecloth bandaged up his hand He unlocked the door and slid the kabuki theatre open to his staff looking panicked.

_ “You were in pain?! You are so strong Ivan you never ask anything of us.” _

_ “Yeah That’s you! The Origami Cyclone is the pinnacle of discipline!.That’s why he’s been so good for us!” _

Too much inaction in response to inaction breeds the same sand whirlpool that confused the biggest chain around his neck. The cheers from his sponsors wearing branded tea shirts with stacks of sponsor stickers resting on the side. He could hear Edward’s voice. What could Ivan do? He sipped the coffee an assistant gave him and felt the froth tickle his lips. Once again his eyes drew around the sound and the little hole he’d made with his lips. 

The next time he set it up was when nobody was around. The night was restless and he was told to be on call due to intelligence trickling through that terrorist activity was on the very near horizon. He sat in costume once more, but waited. He’d already been mobilized before where Barnaby had commanded out to use the shuriken that usually just sat there as a sticker folder. His knees were equidistant apart, just as his legs were on his shuriken. He took out his sword and went to seethe it just like he would do for his hero intros and adverts. He traced his breathe down the blade as it when it, clicking shut with a puff of air. Steam filled the room and Ivan lifted the label and did not stare at it. Staring merely forward at the empty room trusted his hand and still himself. He held his hand and heart beat as if he was hiding along walls. He clutched the ladle and held it as if he was grinding against another blade. The tea dripped into the cup, the leaves clung to the side but did not tip over. His eyes never moved form just in front of him. Every bit of his sticker laden public persona, woven through his skills then coloured with his own true image. Placing the ladle back in the pot, he closed the lid and spent several beats just resting at the sight. A smile appeared across his lips. His heart beat reverently again. 

He did not drink the cup of tea, because it was not the results he needed.The skin of a chameleon is still his skin underneath and the tea steam was the fragrance that peeled them apart. The Origami Cyclone placed his helmet back on its plinth. It was not the result of the inaction, nor the reaction to inaction that he had conquered, but that believing in oneself to prevent and understand why inaction occurs. The result did not matter if he had believed in it. The tea was made. It smelt out the entire vehicle for days at it sat there and eventually began to have mold formations on. The mold didn't matter, in truth, he forgot about it and the ceremony rather quickly. Like the waves hitting the sandy beach, the water dragged away the sand to be submerged in the ocean. The feel now forever drifting inside of him, but now controlled and deep instead of an impassable sea wall

Believe and steady. Two skins working in unison. 

It wasn’t that hard now.


End file.
